Category Archives: Treatment

Mikhail Bulgakov

Posted in Bumpboobs, Chemotherapy, Reading, Treatment by

Today while lying in bed with a cold, sipping on some ginger tea and gulping down my supplements, I received a wonderful gift. Giving gifts can be tricky – because guessing taste needs a mix of judgement and luck; besides even if you do know a person’s taste what then? After the second box of tea, third kitsch trinket (etc.), gift ideas run dry. This is a constant challenge.


But this was a wonderful surprise delivered by my wonderful husband from a friend at his office.  The gift was a book, The Master and Margarita.

If you have never read this title but do love to read, then I suggest you head immediately to your favourite bookstore and sink into the first chapter. In all senses of the word, this story is fantastic. I haven’t read much Russian literature (Anna Karenina is my list topper for ‘need to read’) but, from what I’ve read, they pen a trippy ride. Man, those Russians can write!

Anyhow – I had woken up thinking, “My goodness, yesterday was wonderful but today I’m stuck with a cold,” and couldn’t find much good in it. Now the silver lining is clear. If I hadn’t had my cold, then I wouldn’t have been in bed, and therefore (objective qualitative inference has led me to this conclusion) I would not have been in the perfect setting to receive the perfect book. By my calculations it was approximately five years, four months since I last read Bulgakov’s novel. It’s about time for another dip into that pond.

Hard cover too. 🙂 Extra exciting.

My cold is clearing. This I cannot attribute exclusively to the gift, because I absolutely must credit my acupuncturist. I arrived at her office feeling sluggish, stuffed, and grey as the sky; I reached my bed an hour later with the sniffles receding and now they’re gone. Mixed with my mom’s supplements, a pot of ginger tea, kind attention from Zsolt, and a little bed rest – that acupuncture(pressure) really makes a difference. I don’t even mind that she finds painful points all over my body and rubs them till I can’t stand it. (In fact, I kinda like it – fun!) “Pain means it’s working”, so she assures me.

And now, cherry on the top of my  ice cream sunday: Zsolt is playing Ennio Morricone’s  “L’avventuriero” on repeat in the other room, and that music fills me right from the inside.

Yesterday was lovely. I made fruit salad, rhubarb crumble, and chilli for Zsolt. We took a long walk followed with a little dancing to Frank Sinatra. We went out and pub quizzed with friends over at Trago. The entire day felt good, good, and good. So good to be normal.

Today stared miserably with a cold and some sweats – but that’s England for you, things change with every push of wind. Outside there are clouds, and it’s still fizzing rain . . . but inside, here in this bedroom and under these covers, I feel pretty good.  [Nothing befunds me, not even not knowning what befund means . . . however, according to my online dictionary I am most certainly using this word incorrectly. What do you think, Tony?]

My cold is finally passing. But just to be sure – I’m taking a nap!

Just us two

Posted in Bumpboobs, Chemotherapy, Life, Treatment, Uncategorized by

And now we are alone.

This morning at 7.30 we made our way to the bus stop on Burgess Road. Once arrived, Zsolt watched for the National Express while I leaned against a fence with Mom and put my arm around her shoulders. It was clear and cool and traffic whizzed past.

Saying goodbye has never been nice. Over the past five years I’ve been saying goodbye quite often; at first it can be devastating, but eventually the idea of leaving becomes normal. I keep waiting for Star Trek to kick in and transporters to be invented that can actually transport people, not just photons. (Zsolt is correcting me, he says this is called teleportation – but I keep waiting for STAR TREK to kick in, not this crazy ‘real science’ stuff, and in Star Trek they transport everywhere, no problem . . . except maybe once when people were stuck in transport limbo and Jordie LaForge had to figure out the problem with his visor thing). It’d be a true miracle to wake up in Canada, or in Hungary, or in England; just to go there with a thought.

But enough Star Trek side track.  (All day I’ve been side tracked, trying to avoid this post.)

Saying goodbye has never been easy, despite how often in happens, but I guess we learn to walk forward and move on. Though my poor Mom, well, she’s my mom – that sting doesn’t subside easily.

No more details, just want to say it wasn’t a fun morning.

Things will now be different. Mom knew all sorts of useful tricks; her being here was an incredible help in my mastectomy recovery and chemo preparation. When I was sick she was ready with a cold towel, cleaning out the bucket, and giving me drops. When I wasn’t sick we’d spend time together, going out for tea, watching films and having fun. I’ve spent more time with her in these past six weeks than in the past four years combined. How’s that for a realization?

Things will be different but they won’t be bad. The routine is established. We’ve survived the first treatment.

Anyhow, thanks mom. You also deserve a gold star, and triple points for love. Thanks very, very much. Plus, just so you know the whole day wasn’t terrible. Zsolt and I bought croissants on the way home, and the man at our fruit stand sliced a fresh watermelon in half for us. I hope your bus ride was okay, along with waiting for the flight. I’ve heard Dad might meet you with a cup of tea in hand, so hopefully he comes through. 😉

There you are. Now it’s Zsolt and I alone for a few days to rest and regroup. Zsoltster has been busy washing the sheets for his family. I have been busy eating watermelon. We are thinking of buying a car next week, but it’s still in the air.

Just the two of us again, for a little while. Nothing wrong with that.

Prosthetic Breast

Posted in Bumpboobs, Chemotherapy, Treatment by

My mom is packing for Canada. I can’t imagine this taking too long, she’s been living out of a suit case for the past six weeks. But then again, it’s my mom – and when does a job, she does it right. So I may have a little while to type.


But today I won’t talk about how Mom is leaving after six weeks of being here, giving her love and support. And I won’t mention how incredibly grateful I feel to have spent this time with her. So there is no point saying she’s incredible, and I’ll never be able to thank her enough.

There is time for all that tomorrow, because tomorrow I’ll probably be thinking of nothing else.  (Last time my mom flew out from Heathrow, I left her at the departure area and returned home on the bus. Once home, I realized I had no key for the apartment. Being locked out I tried to call Zsolt, but my phone had no credit. While heading to the shop in order to add credit (couldn’t do it on the bank machine because I didn’t have a card with me, just cash), I dropped my phone down five flights of stairs. Suffice to say, I cried like a baby once Zsolt asked, “how you doing?” and it wasn’t because I was locked out, or dropped my phone, or was exhausted – it was all about my momma. But on the plus side, I can absolutely say that those basic Nokia phones are tough stuff. FIVE flights of stairs!)

Anyhow, I won’t go into any of that. Not even a little bit.


Today we did something fun, and now I understand why men love breasts.

Grabbing a taxi to the hospital, Mom, Zsolt and I called in on the breast care nurse (I had an appointment). We were taken into a room with many boxes – similar to the back of a shoe store, only more hospital-esque, and were asked to take a seat. The nurse then asked me to pull out my bra, which I did (giant A cup mastectomy bra) and we began to try on prosthetic breasts (I tried, others watched; it was a group effort).

I had to swap my pre-bought bra for an on hand sampler because my bra had padding. Therefore, I was wearing a non-padded bra, and we were slipping in different size prosthetic breasts.

What does a fake boob feel like?  It’s a bit like a Ziploc back sealed with water inside. . . if you hold the bag up and touch the bottom where all the water pools . . . it’s kind of that sensation, only softer. Anyhow, it feels good. Really smooth to the finger.

Trying on, trying on – a little smaller, a little bigger, a little here, a little there . . . till we hit the perfect shape.

“Run your hands over both breasts. Give them a good feel,” suggested the nurse. Wow, did that ever feel good. Not like “ohhhh yeah” good. GOOD. It felt real, really real. Had I not known otherwise, it’d be easy to forget there was a difference between the two sides (except for the temperature). And I was fascinated, I could have spent the entire day stroking this soft boob that wasn’t really mine. Not mine, but mine.

So I get the fascination. Mind you, I still don’t have an urge to oogle or stroke anyone else’s breast . . .

Summary: fun day boob shopping. It was a good change.

[Upcoming preview: next week Zsolt’s parents will arrive, shortly followed by his sister Anita and Berci-in-law. Who will sleep where? How much Hungarian will Catherine remember? And will Zsolt be able to work on his thesis? ]